Fragmented Whispers
by EricSzmanda
Summary: One year ago CSI Level Three, Greg Sanders, was kidnapped and brutally tortured by an unknown criminal. For a year he's been looking over his shoulder, to try and find his attacker but now he's run into some new trouble.


**One.**  
><strong><br>*Greg's Point Of View***

I let out a small groan of exhaustion as I park my car within the residential parking lot that's situated underneath the modern apartment complex that both myself and my long term girlfriend, Lottie, reside in. My arms feel like a ton of lead as I take the key out of the ignition, my whole body screaming at me in exhaustion as I force myself to move out from the safe confines of my car. I'm not going to lie, the cool morning air felt good as it hit me square in the face, waking me up a little and causing a small shiver to make its way down the length of my spine as I push the door shut behind me.

Falling back against the side of the car, I allow myself a moment to relax and reminisce of the previous night of work. Don't get me wrong, I love my job but let me tell you, working triple shifts at the most busiest crime lab in the country really does start to take a toll on both your body and mind after a while, especially after a long and weary case like my last one. Though at the end of the day; the case gets solved, the culprit is put behind bars and the victim that has had their lives torn away from them has received the justice that they deserve - that right there is what makes my job so worthwhile and I guess that not many people realise that.

For me, the sense of accomplishment that I get from solving cases, is _knowing_that I've done my job well, that I've found and processed every single bit of evidence that will help the victims who no longer have the chance to speak out for themselves. Just by doing that, I know that I'd have earned the reward of going home at the end of the shift and after all the horrors that I would have seen, I would be able to curl up in bed or on the couch with my arms wrapped securely round my girl, not a thought in my mind about moving from either place until it's time to head back into work again - which is reward enough for me.

Taking in a deep breath, I force myself to push away from the car, my feet scuffling along the walkway as I make my way sleepily over towards the flight of stairs that lead to my apartment. I somehow manage to take the stairs two at a time as my mind clears through the exhaustion to focus my thoughts on someone who awaits for my arrival - my beautiful girl, Lottie. The thought of her sat on the sofa, with her warm smile as she sees me coming through the door, fills my whole body with a warm, tingling sensation. The thought of her arms wrapping round my neck in a loving embrace as I fall down beside her made a smile creep its way onto my face as I imagine her holding me close to her body as she places soft, delicate kisses that trail up my neck and over towards my lips; not stopping until we're both out of breath. Its thoughts like these that I cherish every single day, not taking a single moment with the person I love for granted because I know, through my work, that she could be taken away from me in an instant.

I would have to depend on my thoughts alone to comfort me tonight because I know that I'm not going to be welcomed by that warm scene tonight. How do I know? Well despite my tiredness and aching muscles, as I reach the smooth oak door of the apartment and place the key into the lock, I could feel my body tense up. The atmosphere around me shifted and caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up on end as my breath catches within my throat. I have no idea what caused it, but I just can't shake off the feeling of anxiety and fear that's starting to overtake my senses. I absolutely hate the feeling of dread that's running through my body, my mind totally unprepared for the horror that's awaiting me on the other side of the door.

As soon as I push the front door open and take a step inside, I'm frozen to the spot - I can't move from the shock that is running through my veins and I'm pretty sure that my heart was stuck in my throat. The majority of the furniture within the living room has been totally destroyed in one way or another, books have been ripped and torn down from the smashed bookcases in the left hand corner, there are huge gouges in the sofa and feathers from the cushions can be found scattered all over the floor. In the kitchen area, there are drops of blood on the floor by the dishwasher and a large bloodstained knife was lying abandoned on the floor not too far away from the drops of blood. It takes me a moment or two to tear my gaze away from the kitchen and to force my weary body to move towards the bedroom where I felt my heartbeat begin to race. The mattress was flipped over onto its side, leaning awkwardly against the wardrobe that's doors were smashed completely inwards, the broken shards of wood were encrusted with more blood and clothes were lying strewn all around the room. As I look over to the en suite bathroom, I notice some more blood drops on the floor, leading up to the cracked mirror that had been violently sprayed with more blood.

I knew in my heart from the moment that I stepped foot into my apartment and saw that the furniture had been destroyed, that there had been a struggle. You didn't have to be a genius to work that out, though okay…from a first glance, you could have thought that it was a break-in gone bad or even a robbery but I know better than that. I analyse scenes for a living and this is not your typical break-in or robbery. For one thing, the television and laptops are still intact, right where I left them. Secondly, there wouldn't be this much mess or blood if it was anything like a robbery or break-in, despite if someone innocent was involved or not. I know that this is the scene of a struggle and as I take everything in, I could feel my stomach churn. No matter what I do, as I stand here, I can't stop my mind from drifting straight to the worse case scenario, which I wouldn't usually have done if this was any other case, but it just didn't help the fact that there's absolutely no sign of my girl anywhere within and around the apartment.

If there is one thing that I've learnt from working with Grissom by going out into the field, its that you can't do anything that would contaminate a potential crime scene. So, as I take in the scene before me, I can feel myself getting more and more unstable at the sight, especially of the blood thats scent was overpowering my nostrils. Stumbling back out of the bedroom and over to the apartment door, I gratefully welcome the fresh air that hits my face the second that I'm free from the scene. As I steady my breathing, I can feel my body shaking before falling to the floor, my hands and knees struggling to support my weight as I let the contents of my stomach reach up and out of my throat, splattering the plant pots that were positioned opposite the front door.

I feel sick. Absolutely and completely sick and I don't know what the hell I can do about it. My mind isn't focusing on anything in particular, it's moving too fast for that, so fast that it's actually making me feel dizzy and disorientated. I can feel my body wavering and my palms start to sweat, but I ignore it and reach a hand into my pocket, fumbling around in it until I find my cell phone, pulling it out hastily and dialling, rather rapidly, the number of the one person I know would help me out in a situation like this. As the sound of ringing reaches my ears, I wait with baited breath for the other line to pick up, not exhaling until I hear that one voice.


End file.
